Surprise packages

Can you remember what it was like to wake up on your birthday as a child, certain that the day would bring gifts, surprises and special treats? There was that stomach-fluttering sense of anticipation, that special eagerness to get out of bed and welcome the day.

I still feel something of that simple joy these beautiful mornings as I make my way down to the garden to see what new treasures await discovery. Maybe I'm just a child at heart, but to me, a flower freshly unfolded from its plain green wrapper packs much the same thrill as a gift box newly shorn of its wrappings.

Late spring is an especially fruitful time, since the arrival of June heralds the first peak bloom in the perennial garden. One day, it might be that the peony buds, as round and fat as Jawbreaker gumballs, have burst open and freed a double handful of silken petals. Another day might bring a puddle of pinks into flower, so vibrant that their hues are visible from 30 feet away.

The Japanese peonies in my big garden, a pink one named 'Do Tell' and a white one called 'Cheddar Charm,' are especially prodigious bloomers.

When the first flower or two opens, you might stand there and marvel at their size, fully 8 inches across, and their extraordinary texture. Smooth guard petals form a perimeter around an ice cream scoop of twisted petals in the middle. When the plant bows low with its full complement of flowers (more than 70 for 'Cheddar Charm'), the show is nothing short of spectacular.

Having established plants return for another season of bloom is as satisfying as visiting with old friends. The salvia 'May Night' is back with spikes of deepest blue, and the irises are once again flaunting blossoms of classic purple, sunshine yellow and delicate peachy-pink.

Even more exciting is to see a plant in flower for the very first time. In my garden, where patience is a cultivated virtue, it may take small seedlings a year or two to mature to blossoming size. Or, it may be that a plant, languishing in its first location, responds to a change in venue with renewed vigor.

This spring, my Oriental poppies bloomed at last, grown large and stout after two seasons in the ground. You couldn't miss 'Brilliant,' which I spotted from my kitchen window the morning it finally burst free of its fuzzy green bud. I couldn't wait to get shoes on so I could see close at hand the purple-black heart in the center of its scarlet bowl of petals. This defines "worth the wait."

I never really saw much from my native honeysuckle since its original site was probably too shady. Last fall, I shifted it to a place near the entry where I might train it up the trellised wall and over the arch that tops the gate.

It has soundly endorsed my decision by covering itself in glory this spring. Top to bottom, it's covered with sprays of narrow, trumpet-shaped flowers, rosy pink outside and orange within. The flowers sit on short stems rising from the middle of leaves as round as those of a eucalyptus. It's everything you imagined and more.

I have a checkered past with clematis and my current ones were late arrivals last year, bought on sale near the end of July. I had doubts they would survive, and in fact, two of the six didn't make it through the winter. Of the others, now in bloom, are a deep magenta one called 'Regency' and a dark, rich purple variety known as 'Midnight Showers.'

Who would have guessed that the flowers would orient themselves to the east, facing my garden bench? How obliging of them! Most plants turn their faces to the sun, which would have them looking the other way, showing seated guests the backs of their petals.

As the saga of spring unfolds, I find gifts in my garden more mornings than not. In the next day or two, I expect to see flowers from my evening primroses, a misnomer since these yellow "sundrops" bloom during daylight hours. I'm also watching the buds forming on the delphiniums, the meadow rue and the new rose.

All of these will step forward in the month of June. Then, there will be a brief intermission before the flowers of high summer bloom -- the phlox, coneflowers, lilies and zinnias.

There's drama and excitement in the garden, no less than in the theater, with ripening buds foreshadowing grand entrances to come and big production numbers that bring several actors together on stage. Me, I'm the audience, primed to applaud the next thrilling act. Isn't this exactly why we garden?